


Bitter

by multibean



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Loaaads of angst, Loneliness, One-Shot, Self Loathing, Weight Gain, just pure angst tbh, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multibean/pseuds/multibean
Summary: Without Josh, the very notion of purpose was too abstract to grasp. It was nonexistent.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is super angsty and kind of sad, but I hope you enjoy :3

It was Tyler's birthday.  
He gazed wearily at the untouched cake across the room, not hungry. There were two unopened birthday cards beside him. Slowly, he opened them.

_Happy birthday, Tyler. Have a nice day._

It was all bullshit. He didn't want cake, he didn't want cards. Fuck, he didn't even care that he had no presents. His drugs were good enough, and helped him to forget that he was a sad, miserable little fucker who hurt everyone around him.  
He ripped both cards in half.  
The tears welled up again and he gave a little whine from deep within before snorting his sweet nose candy. _Just a little this time. You're running low._ That's what he always told himself, but that simply wasn't possible with such a powerfully addictive substance. It had him firmly in its unbreakable grip.  
The birthday cake was bitter in comparison to the joyous high that temporarily lifted him up off the ground, but the comedown was the most bitter of all.  
When you're this lonely, this unhappy, this pathetic, only drugs can make life a little more bearable. That and food. Tyler had gained a significant amount of weight since Josh had last seen him. That only made Tyler even more repulsive to him now.  
A life without Josh was bitter.  
The cake really wasn't appealing today.  
Tyler drew his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes, remembering the last time he and Josh had communicated. It wasn't a pleasant memory. It had just been another fight, another declaration of Tyler's stupidity, another reinforcement of the fact that he was a massive cunt. Josh had been right all along.  
Tyler had been the one to start it all. He was the cheater, the cokehead, the liar. _What a sad excuse for a human_ , he thought.  
Josh had been the angel, the innocent one, the loyal one. The one who wasn't a whore. Josh had never hurt anybody.

 

Tyler turned on the TV. _What's the point_ , he thought.  
That was pretty much it. No more singing, no more ukulele, no more songwriting. He just sat on his arse all day, binging on food and alcohol and snorting cocaine. It was a temporary escape, but an escape nonetheless.  
No more Twenty Øne Piløts.  
Josh hated him, his fans felt betrayed, and the majority of his family couldn't stand him either. He was a loner, a nobody. He had cut himself off from the outside world with no escape from the dreary nightmare that his reality had become.  
He was bitter because it was all his fault. He had initiated his pitiful downfall all by himself, and he was bitter because he had no excuse to blame anyone else. Blaming another person was just easier.  
Not even the pills worked. Bloody Prozac had only made him want to eat more. He tossed them in the bin.  
Besides, why waste his time taking antidepressants when he could go fuck some prostitute and reap the same rewards. He couldn't give a toss about money. As long as he could afford his little windows of happiness, that was all that mattered. Who gave a shit about bills when he was probably going to end up homeless anyway.

 

Tyler sat on his bed, scrolling through his phone. It wasn't like he had anyone to talk to.  
He had deleted all of his social media. The famous and talented man was long gone now, and what was left of him was a chubby, antisocial drug addict who had stumbled into a deep hole that was nigh impossible to get out of.  
He thought of a song that he had written many years ago.

_Are you searching for purpose?_  
_Then write something, yeah, it might be worthless_  
_Then paint something then, it might be wordless_  
_Pointless curses, nonsense verses_  
_You'll see purpose start to surface_

He gave a defeated laugh. This crap he'd written about purpose, it was all bullshit. He had no purpose. Without Josh, the very notion of purpose was too abstract to grasp. It was nonexistent.  
He still had photos, atleast. He doubted Josh had kept any photos of him, considering the way Tyler had treated him.  
Admittedly he did masturbate furiously to that beautiful face from time to time, but for the most part the photos served as a cruel and painful reminder of everything he'd fucked up. He was a fuck-up in and of itself.  
The sad part was, nothing was ever going to change. Tyler was trapped in this miserable cycle forever - depressed, alone, with no purpose or reason to live.


End file.
